The Adventures of Little Girl and Daddy Dom
by laviecontinue
Summary: Ana feels caught in a stagnant relationship with her devoted Daddy Dom, Christian. She desperately wants to tell him the truth, that she's in love with him, but how to do it when they never break out of scene and he's focused on pampering and cherishing his Little Girl? Just a silly possible one shot.


_**Hey guys, I am still continuing my other stories, I promise. I just needed a break from it to write something else that's silly that's been in my mind. Be warned; It's probably ridiculous, but if you read my other story, you'd know that's me and my mind.**_

 _ **The Adventures of Little Girl and Daddy Dom**_

I know I'm going to get into trouble once I get home, and still, I do it.

I take my time despite knowing that every extra second I spend out is going to make it incredibly worse for me. My stomach is in tense little knots as I glance around, inspecting all the different fruits available. Strawberry, some exotic fruits I haven't seen before. He's going to punish me so badly when I get home and, already, I can feel my pulse jumping at my throat in trepidation.

And yet, a part of me feels so deviant, so exhilarated as I stroll leisurely down the market stalls, selecting fruit. I'd had a craving for bananas and apples- and we hadn't had any left in the apartment because he hadn't gotten around to grocery shopping yet.

He forbids me to go grocery shopping; He wants to take care of me, and he believes grocery shopping is something only he is allowed to do for me.

It was part of the contract he'd designed for me, ever since I first met him. If anyone had told me I would be here, now, in this sort of relationship, I wouldn't have believed them. Yet, here I am...

 _LITTLE GIRL/SUBMISSIVE:_

 _15.13 The Little Girl/ Submissive accepts the Dominant/ Daddy as her Daddy/Master, with the understanding that she is now the property of her Daddy, to be dealt with as her Daddy pleases._

 _16.13 The Little Girl/ Submissive always refers to the Dominant as her Daddy. Using other names will prompt immediately punishment of the Daddy's liking._

 _APPENDIX 1_

 _RULES_

 _Sleep_

 _The Little Girl will go to bed when her Daddy sees the time fitting, ensuring she gets a minimum of eight hours sleep a night. The Little Girl is to select a book for her Daddy to read each night before bedtime; No exceptions._

 _Food_

 _The Little Girl will eat all of the food her Daddy provides her with and will eat regularly to maintain her health and well-being from a prescribed list of foods. The Little Girl will not snack between meals, unless otherwise allowed by her Daddy. The Little Girl will not purchase food unless her Daddy gives her permission to. It is Daddy's responsibility to provide for his Little Girl._

I reach a stall where a man is selling reasonably priced bananas, immediately remembering the list of prescribed foods I am and aren't allowed to eat. I know them all practically by heart. After all, I should.

 _Acceptable Foods/Snacks/Drinks_

 _Fruit_

 _Nuts_

 _Water_

 _Fruit Juice_

 _Unacceptable Foods and drink (Unless allowed by Daddy)_

 _Candy/sweets_

 _Cola_

 _Alcohol_

I grab four bananas, then five apples. As I pay the man behind the counter, I hear my phone go off in my pocket. Thanking the man for the bags of fruit, I breathe shakily, reaching for my phone. I check caller ID, and I know I'm right. I'm in deep, deep trouble. It's him. He's going to be so mad.

My punishment will even be worse if I deliberately ignore his phone call. Moving away from the stall to give myself some privacy, I press 'answer', holding the phone up to my ear. My heart is pounding, my mouth dry.

I make sure no one can hear me, as I whisper in a small voice, "Daddy?"

"Where are you?" Just as I predicted, he's mad. I close my eyes tight, listening to his breathing going heavier on the other line.

I can just imagine him, arriving home from work, calling for me to sit on his lap as he likes. He likes it when he comes home from a stressful day and I'm there to sit in his lap. He loves stroking my hair; It makes him feel relaxed and content and, in turn, relaxes me as well.

"I'm fifteen minutes away at the market," I whisper softly, chastised by his voice alone. "We... we ran out of fruit and I was hungry." I glance down at the two bags I'm holding. "I was craving bananas and some apples-"

"- Come home straight away," he interrupts me, using his authoritative Daddy voice. I've definitely displeased him. "I already knew we were out of fruit. In fact, after I'd finished work, I was going to take us to buy some food at the market myself."

"Oh," I breathe. "Daddy, I'm-"

"-Just get home." He hangs up on me, and I shut my phone, looking around again nervously.

Biting my lip, I shove my phone back into my bag and start walking.

It takes me less than ten minutes to get home to my apartment if I walk briskly enough. He'd brought it for me, and he pays all the rent and utility bills himself; a bonus for doing this with him. I could have done without all of the added perks, though.

Himself as my Daddy was really enough.

Unlocking my door, I inhale in deeply, then push inside. My heart is racing wildly as I put my bag with my purse and phone up onto the rack. I carry the weighed-down plastic bags of bananas and apples with me, for evidence, I guess. It's so quiet in the apartment, it's a little nerve-wracking, yet exciting at the same time.

I have no idea where he is in my one bedroom studio apartment. The apartment was expensive for rent each week, and it has its own outside area with a nice view of Seattle. There's a gorgeous bathtub in the bathroom and it was mostly furnished already when he got it for me. I peek into the kitchen, but he's not there.

Sliding into my Little Girl act, I swallow nervously before calling, "Daddy, I'm home?"

When I first started this, I found it so hard to keep a straight face. I am 22 years old, and I am calling a 28 year old man my daddy. But after a while, I started getting really into it. There's something sexy and nice about knowing there's someone always there to protect you, to comfort you, to confide in you. It's nice to feel pampered when he brushes my hair or kisses my bottom where he's spanked me after our punishment.

"In here," he calls, and I hear his voice in the bedroom.

I breathe in deeply through pursed lips, then tilt my head slightly, so when I first go in there, I won't meet his eyes. I've been naughty by disobeying him, but he's been neglectful because he left no fruit inside the house.

I'm gripping the plastic bags with the fruit tightly between my fingers as I sneak into the room, my chin down towards the floor. Without raising my eyes, I see him sitting on the edge of the bed; His legs are crossed together as he sits there, waiting for me. He's still dressed in his fancy business suit, he hasn't changed since he first came home from work.

His shoes are polished black leather. Daddy always wears the finest shoes.

"I've had a terrible day, and then I come home to see my Little Girl to find she's gone," he begins, his voice low, foreboding.

Still not looking at him, I hold up the plastic bags in gesture as I inch closer so I'm standing near his legs. He sighs loudly, and then he grabs the bags from me, setting them down on the dresser. And I should know what comes next, but still, it startles me, when he grabs me by the waist, pulling me closer, and I straddle him, sitting in his lap, keeping my head low to his chest. He loves his Little Girl straddling him.

"Daddy didn't leave any fruit inside the house," I point out in the whiny voice I know he loves so much. "Daddy's been neglectful."

He sighs again, and then he puts a hand beneath my chin. He lifts my head up, slowly, until I meet his gray gaze. His thumb strokes my chin as he inspects me attentively. "Daddy has been neglectful, hasn't he?" he whispers, remorse flickering in his eyes.

"Yes," I whisper, licking my lips. "Daddy has."

He reaches across from me, grabbing something. A small plastic cup with water. Daddy never lets me drink from glasses, because apparently his Little Girl could cut herself.

"Thirsty?" he asks, and he takes a sip from the cup himself.

"Yes, I'm thirsty, Daddy," I mutter, my throat suddenly too dry, needing moisture. "And hungry, too."

I expect him to hold the cup to me so I can drink it, only he doesn't like he usually does. This time, he drinks another bit of it, but he doesn't swallow. He leans closer, until his lips touch mine. As I open my mouth to him, he pours the water out of his mouth, into mine. I swallow quickly, the water cool, refreshing.

He sets the cup down, then I hear the rustling of him opening up one of the bags with his hand. I wonder what fruit it will be. Banana, or apple? He surprises me, and I let him. I keep my eyes on nothing else but his face.

"So Daddy's Little Girl is hungry, is she?" he asks, and there's an edge to his voice.

"Yes. I'm very, very hungry."

I discover what the fruit is when he puts it against my lips. A banana, half unpeeled.

"Eat," he orders, his eyes bright on my mouth. "Then be a good girl and eat."

Opening my mouth, I bite a part of the banana off, chewing slowly. He watches me and every movement I make, his expression avid, intense.

"Mm, I love bananas," I murmur happily.

"That's right," he says, his voice high with pleasure. "Daddy's girl loves bananas, doesn't she?" He puts it against my lips again after I've swallowed completely, and I bite another chunk off.

"Daddy likes his bananas, too," I point out in a slurry mouthful, and I curl my fingers around his wrist, shoving it towards his mouth.

"That's right," he agrees, and he bites a piece off as well with his teeth and he moans throatily as he chews.

We take it in turns, staring into each other's eyes, curbing our hunger with eating a full long banana all ourselves. Then one finished, he tosses the peel on the dresser, grabbing the cup again.

"Another drink?" he asks, and he holds the plastic cup up to my lips.

I drink obediently as he holds it, maintaining eye-contact. Every time I swallow the refreshing water down, Daddy looks even happier with me. His eyes go brighter, a slight smile curling his lips.

"Good girl," he says when I've finished the last drop. He fakes being impressed as he turns the cup over and not a drop spills out. "You've drank the whole cup! Daddy's pleased that his Little Girl keeps herself hydrated so well!"

I feign coyness, laughing a fake giddy laugh while shyly holding my fingers over my mouth. If there's a really good thing I've learned while being Little Girl to his Daddy, it's that my acting has definitely improved. It used to feel so cringe-worthy but now, I'm getting a real good handle on it.

I know what comes next, and I'm eager for it.

Grasping me tightly around my waist, he twists on the bed, pulling me underneath him with a sly chuckle. My thighs squeeze into his sides as he hovers over me, the lower half of his body and his legs between mine, his trousers pressing beneath my dress as it hitches up past mid-thigh along with the movement.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss into my mouth tenderly, slowly, our lips moving together at a relaxed, easy pace. I run a hand down the curve of his back before he finds it blindly while still kissing me, and he hoists my arm up, holding it above my head, keeping it pinned by the mattress above us when he interlocks his fingers through mine.

Daddy's funny about me touching him.

"Have you been mostly good today?" he asks in a hoarse, throaty voice as he stops kissing me on my mouth.

Instead, he moves down, grazing my chin with his teeth, ducking his head lower, assaulting my throat. I love when he does that. He's so good with his mouth and how he works my body. I'm breathing heavily, unsteadily, a moan escaping through my gritted teeth as he rubs his nose up and down my throat.

"Yes," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. I clench hard around his waist with my thighs, moving a little with my pelvis, pushing up and down against his stomach with my hips. I need some friction, and badly. "Yes, I... I was, Daddy!"

"You sure?" he asks in warning, and then he grunts hotly, probably noticing that I'm humping him through my panties.

"Y-yes." Oh, God. That friction, its perfect. I keep rocking, humping him through my panties, flexing my hips desperately. It's so hot in here, so... so warm. But then, all too soon, Daddy takes it unfairly away from me.

I cry out in shock as he shifts slightly on the bed with his knees, so he's basically astride me. Now my pelvis can't reach him anymore, he's made a gap there. He's so cruel.

He makes a tutting noise as I reopen my eyes, peering up at him. He's above me, looking me over, gray eyes bright, a frown on his lips. "How selfish of you," he mutters, scolding me. "So eager to find your own release when you disobeyed Daddy and went to the market?" Reaching down with his hand, he locates my knee, and he does it, without warning. He slaps me on the side of my thigh, hard, spanking me, punishing his Little Girl for her behavior.

A startled cry escapes my mouth at the sting as I stare into his eyes. He's breathing heavily, turned on. Daddy loves his punishment.

But before I know it, my normal Ana-instincts take over. The bratty Little Girl inside me can never be tamed, and she knows when to call a bluff when she needs to. "You call me selfish?" I spit in disbelief, my eyes stinging. "Daddy didn't even bring any food home so this Little Girl had to go to the market herself because Daddy forgot and she was hungry!"

Breathing heavily, he digests my words in, his eyes wide. Then slowly, shame crosses his face, and he finally nods in repentance. "You're right," he says in an uneven, regretful voice. "Daddy _did_ forget so Daddy's the selfish one." I don't get my way very often, but when I do, I'm filled with glee. "Let Daddy make it up to his Little Girl?" he asks pleasingly.

"Hmm," I moan, drawing the word out loudly. "No," I mutter immaturely, and I turn my head away, acting like a bratty girl. He loves it when I play up being a Bratty Girl too.

"No?" he breathes heavily in offense. "Daddy can't make it all better?"

"Nope," I mumble, popping my lips at the P part.

"Oh, I think Daddy can," he says and he reaches down between my legs, up around my dress. He slides his hand underneath my panties, his fingers going... right there. A gasp escapes me as he moves his fingers tantalizingly slow around my folds, tracing around them. Without control of my body, I start jerking desperately, moving, and then he pushes them in. He makes a deep shaky grunting noise in response. "You're sopping for Daddy," he observes in delight, and then he locates my clit. He starts rubbing around it with his thumb, in the motion that he knows I love, the part that gets me fired up and going.

I groan loudly as I shut my eyes, my body bucking without my control as he asserts pressure with his thumb over my sensitive, throbbing clit. "Oh, Daddy," I breathe out in bliss. "Daddy, yes!"

Still rubbing me, he leans down, and then I feel him bite through my dress, through the cup of my bra. I only just feel his teeth lightly squeezing down on each nipple. I want him already. It's always better when it's me and Daddy.

"Please," I moan desperately as he continues rubbing me with his thumb, alternating between too teasingly soft, and then painfully, agonizingly hard. "Please... no more."

"No more?" he pants in confusion into my dress.

"No more... that, Daddy."

And then, ruining our moment, ruining everything, his damn phone starts ringing.

"No!" I cry out in annoyance as he slows with his hand. "No, Daddy, don't answer, not now! No!" But he doesn't listen.

I whimper at the loss of the pressure of his thumb as he lets my hand go. He leans back from me, grabbing his phone from in his pocket, his one hand still deep in my panties. Greedily, I start moving again, wiggling beneath him for some friction to build back up again while he answers.

"Yeah, Grey?" I don't know how he does it. He's on top of me, and his hand is still buried in my underwear, where no doubt I'm moist and warm, my clit probably engorged and throbbing. Yet he sounds so normal and as if his Little Girl isn't gyrating against his hand.

Daddy looks down at me in shock, giving me an incredulous look while listening to someone on the other line as I pant and heave, pushing against his hand.

I open my mouth to fake sob in protest as he removes his hand completely from my underwear, but he's too quick. He cuts me off by pressing his hand into my lips in stern warning as he listens.

"What?" he barks out, and then finally, he sits up, removing his hand from my mouth. He moves away from me, pacing, while I stare at the back of his head, feeling sullen, neglected. "Fifty copies! I specifically requested fifty copies!" I am badly throbbing down there and wet. Maybe I need to take matters into my own hands seeing as Daddy is too selfish and business orientated to? "How fucking hard can it be?"

Fucking...

How fucking hard...

Fucking... Oh oh. He said the bad word. He isn't supposed to say bad words.

Shrieking high-pitched like a mad woman, I cup my hands over both ears, thrashing my body around on the bed. I act like I'm possessed, bouncing up and down the mattress, using my legs. "Bad word!" I cry out, watching him as he turns around to look at me in alarm. "Bad! Bad!"

He mutters something that I can't hear because I'm obviously fake tantruming, and then he storms off into another room for some peace and quiet. The instance the door closes in the other room, I stop my fake tantrum, pulling my hands away from my ears as I breathe heavily. I can't help giggling to myself in satisfaction at the fact he's rushed into another room so no one hears what relationship he actually has for a living.

Admittedly, I'm guilty of using our unusual, kinky relationship to my advantage. I'm not innocent.

Sometimes he has to leave early in the morning because, as a CEO of his successful company, Daddy has to get to early meetings and be there on time. I like to use my Daddy Girl act to my advantage. I've made him late far more times than he'd like. Sometimes I deliberately pretend to cry or act as though I've just had a nightmare, and he'll have no choice but to lay with me on the bed, combing my hair or telling me a nice story even though he's already running late.

Sometimes, when I'm premenstrual and I have bad cramps, I'll deliberately drop food on my shirt or on my face, leaving Daddy no choice but to clean me up. It always helps my cramps when Daddy runs me a hot bubble bath and washes me, pampering me.

Or sometimes, because he has this strict rule about me not eating junk unless he permits it, when he does let me eat, say an ice-cream cone for instance, I'll eat most of it and drop the rest on the floor by "accident". Then I'll start crying and act distressed and he has no choice but to give me a new ice cream cone, so I get to actually indulge in two ice-cream cones rather than one.

I don't really know if he even suspects or notices that, at times, I manipulate him by playing the game. All I know, is that it's fun to do it. Most of the time, I am trying to restrain my laughter when he assumes he's just taking care of his Little Girl, when really, I'm just getting what I want masterfully.

While one of my duties is to always please my Daddy and make sure I keep him happy, I think it's mainly the other way around. He lives to please me, and he has to make me happy. I'm not totally sure if my little tricks are considered cheating, but I so own him.

When he finally returns after finishing his phone call, he opens the door and strides back into the room. I turn my head to look up at him, and he stands there for a moment, peering down at me, observing me in return.

"Somebody said a bad, bad word," I say unhappily with a forced pout.

"I know and I'm sorry, Baby Girl." Bending down over the bed, he clasps my ankle, leaning down, giving my right heel a quick kiss. Then he leans back to look at me, his expression remorseful, sorry. "Unfortunately I have to head back into work. Other people can be so incompetent." Moving closer, he reaches down, grabbing my head, twining his fingers through my hair, keeping me still.

Leaning down, he kisses me, but a deeper kiss than usual, using his tongue. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth and I tentatively touch the tip back, prodding him. This is different. Usually Daddy doesn't kiss me like this. Finally ending the kiss, he leans back, his eyes still closed. I think I can hear him sniffing me in.

"Have a bowl of ice cream with chocolate chips before bed," he mutters in a strained voice.

Wow, he's being extra generous tonight. Usually I'm not allowed chocolate chips with my ice cream. "Really?" I ask, in my high-pitched girl voice. "Even chocolate chips?"

" _Especially_ the chocolate chips. I'll come over later to brush your hair and read you a bedtime story, but I'm not sure what hour it will be, okay?" And then he kisses my forehead once before standing. "If it's after twelve and I can't make it, I'll sing to you on the phone. What was that lullaby you like again?" He asks me in amusement, but I know he's faking it. Daddy always remembers.

"Mary Had A Little Lamb?" I remind him with an overly excited voice.

"Yes, that's right. I'll sing it all to you on the phone, baby."

Oddly enough, he has actually sung to me on the phone before. It didn't really make me feel sleepy at all, but I pretended I was yawning and sleepy anyway. The things you do.

Reluctantly I force myself up, following him to the door. He turns around to blow me as kiss as he opens the door and I fake wipe my eyes while blowing him a kiss back. Then he shuts the door and it's just a peaceful silence.

Now that I know he's gone, I take off my wig and mask. Metaphorically speaking.

With a sigh, I give a little wiggle, stretching out my arms and feet. Sometimes being someone's Little Girl can be draining yet, oddly enough, I don't regret taking him up on his offer one bit.

"Christian," I mutter to myself, knowing fair well he's not in the room and he can't punish me now. I don't need to call him Daddy all the time, thank goodness. It's only when he's there in the room with me or calling me on the phone, which is, practically, every single moment I'm with Christian.

But his name isn't really called Daddy, it's Christian. Christian Grey.

Admittedly, I only agreed to his proposition because I felt like he was the most gorgeous man on the planet. Interesting and accomplished too. At the start, we got to know each other really well, establishing trust. Then he'd admitted to me that he's into the whole Daddy Dom and Little Sub fantasy, and I thought, hey, I'm down to give it a go if he is.

But honestly, the real reason I agreed, the real reason we've been doing this for the past six months is because... I'm always hoping for a normal relationship with him. He's my ideal man, and the love making and pampering is just off-the-charts.

Sadly, when we're together, we don't break out of the scene much, which is quite frustrating. He's always Daddy, not Christian, and I'm always Little Girl or, depending how much I play it up, Bratty Little Girl, not Ana.

It can be physically draining sometimes, like you are exercising, but on the inside. Not your muscles, but your innards and yourself and personality.

Sometimes I just want to desperately break the scene and say, "Hey, Christian, we've been doing this for six months now, and there's something I've got to tell you."

Which I don't think I'd ever have the guts to tell him anyway. But the truth is, I am madly, utterly, Little Girlishly, in love with this man. And yet we remain in scene, 21 hours, 5 days a week, Daddy Dom and Little Girl.

What is Little Girl speak for "I Love You, Christian"?

 **I promise I'm still updating Stalking You, Stalking Me, I just needed a silly little break from it to write something else crazy that my mind thought of. If this was too weird, I apologize, and blame my mind. :p Not sure whether to make this into a longer story, but it was fun to write anyway and hopefully just as fun for you to read.**


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